


Mint Car

by tinsnip



Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Cardassia, Established Relationship, Feel-good, Fluffy, Happy, Indulgent, Infatuation, M/M, Post-Canon, delight!, smiling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-24
Updated: 2014-02-04
Packaged: 2017-12-12 21:00:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 14,293
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/816009
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tinsnip/pseuds/tinsnip
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Post-canon Cardassia vignettes, inspired by The Cure's <a href="http://youtu.be/08eGLLM27to">"Mint Car."</a></p><p>Very light, very fluffy, very self-indulgent.</p><p>Hey, the world may be half-destroyed, but Cardassia rebuilds, Cardassia survives - and in the meantime, infatuation is a power unto itself. Even survivors fall in love, as Elim Garak is finding out. (Julian Bashir is pleased to assist.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. so happy i could scream

**Author's Note:**

> (With pleased thanks to bmouse for letting me use the concept of the so'c - my darling, wait 'til you see how it's woven itself into their language - what fun!)

_the sun is up – i’m so happy i could scream!_  
 _and there’s nowhere else in the world i’d rather be than here with you –_  
 _it’s perfect_  
 _it’s all i ever wanted_  
 _oh, i almost can’t believe that it’s for real (so pinch me quick!)_

* * *

Light filtered through his closed eyelids, warm and insistent; for a moment he frowned, reluctant, not quite ready to wake up.

And then he remembered, _ah,_ and his mouth stretched into a giddy smile, quite beyond his control, and his hands clenched into fists—

_Good morning, Elim. Oh, and it is a good morning, isn’t it…!_

Eyes still closed, he listened, and yes, there it was: soft breathing next to him, long and slow and regular, and this was quite possibly the very best way to wake up that had ever been devised. _I could shout. I truly could._

Dare he look? No, not yet; first, it rather seemed appropriate to properly record the moment, to catalogue the sensations for later ease of retrieval. He’d want to relive this, someday.

First, hearing. Already done, technically – but there was nothing wrong with doing it again, with drifting lightly, eyes closed; with savouring the sound of soft susurrations, and remembering sighs and cries and his own name on urgent lips. Goodness, no, there was nothing wrong with that at all, was there…

Next, scent. The sheets, wrapped loosely over him – and all draped on top of him, in fact, none left for the other side of the bed – smelled rather strongly of… Well, not to put too fine a point upon it, they smelled like Human sweat and pheromones, and so did the air; the tiny bedroom was pungent with it. It was rather funny how important context could be. In any other situation, that scent would make him curl his lip. _But now, I do believe I could drink it…_

Mmm, and that was taste, wasn’t it; well, perhaps he couldn’t indulge quite the way he might like – although he remembered, ah, he did – but there were always options, and he was a resourceful man. Smiling to himself, he opened his mouth and sipped the air, lifting his tongue, letting the breath caress his so’c; and here was more Human, delicious and slightly salty, essence floating through the room, _mmm indeed..._ Marvellous, really; it filled his mouth, and he gulped air again, greedy for something quite intangible. _I always was. But now look, look—_

No, not yet – but the intangible had now become rather delightfully tangible, and so he gently slid a hand over, out from under the sheets; the room was still cool from the night’s chill, but here next to him was a warm body, so warm, almost radiant with heat. He didn’t touch, not quite, but then he didn’t have to; the warmth spilling over from the man beside him was so wildly abundant that he could sense where his skin ended and the Human’s began without coming much closer than, oh, a few iceksamlan away… Wasteful, really. Metabolic extravagance. Humans were so excessive. How fast must their metabolisms run, to constantly burn so hot? _No wonder he eats so quickly. I’m surprised they all don’t._ And this particular Human was so slender, truly; perhaps he ran hotter than most? There were so many places that bone pressed to the surface, so many little spots of stretched skin – his framework was so delicate, so beautifully constructed…

And that was a clear invitation to sight, yes? _Please?_

Very well, he would permit it. He cracked one eye open, just a little, just to see if he was being watched – and no, those lovely eyes were still closed, heavy lids in clear evidence, unnecessarily long lashes almost brushing against soft cheeks. Extravagance and excess, everything about the man was extravagance, beauty beyond belief, every detail just as he’d remembered, _oh,_ it was almost too good to be true—

_Elim Garak, you are being rather excessive yourself._

He was, wasn’t he, and yet he couldn’t bring himself to care particularly. Why not throw adjectives to the wind? Why not spin webs of words in which he could hope to capture some of the sweetness of the man next to him, so unexpected and so _there_ , so impossibly true?

He couldn’t stop smiling, and he laughed at himself, shaking silently in the warm bed. _Julian Bashir, what have you done to me?_

Oh, he wanted so very much to reach out a hand, to trace the shape of his face, that naked chin, those unadorned ears, those little strips of hair over his eyes, that mouth – _ah, that mouth –_ and goodness, that nose, _really…_ That on its own had more or less sealed his fate, once upon a time. Julian might be a bit odd-looking in a Cardassian context, but Garak didn’t know a gul who wouldn’t drop to glinn in a heartbeat for a chance at a nose like that. All it needed was a slight ridging down the middle, and Julian would own a nose that would be the envy of beauty-conscious Cardassians everywhere.

_I am being embarrassingly foolish…!_

Ah, well; what else did he have to do? Nothing, today. When he’d heard Julian was coming, he’d leveraged whatever slight accumulation of vesala he’d built up with his work-mates to negotiate a few days off in succession – unheard of, these days, but he’d managed it. _Perhaps it was the slight air of desperation that sealed the deal._ It would cost him down the line, he knew that, and yet it was worth it: to have nowhere to go, nothing to do but gaze foolishly at the man next to him, sleeping comfortably, completely unaware of the besotted idiot waiting patiently for him to awaken…

Quite patiently.

Because he was very, very good at patient.

But it _would_ be rather nice if Julian woke up now, wouldn’t it? There was a perfectly good morning going to waste. Why, there could be lovemaking to start the day – and then a shower together, why not, and then lovemaking, and then food, and then perhaps relaxation on the balcony, looking out over the city, and then – because the day would be getting really rather hot by that point – a retreat to the cool interior of the apartment, and clearly that would mean more lovemaking—

 _Dear me, Elim._ Goodness, he hadn’t felt this top-spun in years.

_Years? You mean decades._

Well, perhaps he was overdue. Perhaps some kind of hormone had built up, quietly, and was now boiling over. That would explain rather a lot, wouldn’t it? Certainly it wasn’t his usual nature to want so desperately to laugh, to bubble with happy noises, to hiss gleefully, to clutch, to nip, to _bite_ , oh, why wouldn’t the silly Human wake _up?_

Perhaps he only needed a little coaxing. _I can coax…_

There was rather a large expanse of soft, desert-sand skin on display before him. Julian was asleep on his back, face turned up, one arm crossed carelessly across his abdomen, the other – Garak lifted his head, peering – yes, the other flung over the edge of the bed, dangling. His long legs were pulled up, knees angled towards Garak, feet just barely visible, and he wore absolutely nothing at all. _Delightful…_

Julian’s nakedness was the strangest combination of alluring and awkward; really, the way Human physiology had arranged for reproduction was so _risky._ How the males managed to walk around with all that business constantly exposed was a wonder to him. Fitting pants for Humans had always made him want to chuckle… but he was getting off-topic, wasn’t he, he needed to figure this out…

A thought: gently, oh so gently, he blew a delicate breath at Julian, directing it at his arm, his neck, his chest. An unexpected breeze could mean an unwanted entry, an opened window, someone where someone shouldn’t be; such a breeze would wake Garak in a matter of moments.

Apparently not so Julian Bashir.

 _Hmm._ He tried again, this time puffing air at Julian’s ear, not hard, just enough that he’d feel it – as, apparently, he did; Julian twitched slightly, and frowned, and turned his face away, and then let out a rather irritating little snore.

He pursed his lips.

Very well, then; there were always other options. He lifted a hand, let it hover a hair’s-breadth away from Julian’s skin; he traced along the wave of heat that emanated from him, barely brushing the myriad tiny hairs that lay so contentedly along his arm, the back of his hand…

Nothing. Well, pleasant little tingles at the tickling of his palm, and that wasn’t really nothing. But nothing _productive._

Hmm. There were times when unfortunate actions had to be taken for the greater good. _I may have to be… obvious._

He remembered sliding his hands over Julian, only a few hours before; he remembered fascination with the here-and-there scattering of hair over his body, and how he’d nosed curiously into a decorated area, wanting to smell and taste – and how Julian had _jumped_ and yanked away, and been rather loud about it. He’d reassured Garak that he wasn’t hurt, not at all, but: _Humans are sensitive there, Elim, be careful!_

Well, he’d made it up to Julian, hadn’t he…

 _So perhaps I can make this up too._ Marvellous thought; honestly, this was win-win.

He nodded to himself, and narrowed his eyes, planning his attack. First, up on to his elbow, so that he could access his target; next, he raised his free hand, wriggling its fingers, _can I reach it? Yes…_

Well, then, mission was go; he smiled and let his hand swoop down, arrowing towards Julian’s invitingly open underarm—

And that loosely-flung arm flashed into motion; a long-fingered hand caught his wrist and squeezed, holding him fast. He gasped in surprise, then clamped his lips shut – _how embarrassing; am I that out of practice?_

Oh, well; he found he didn’t mind much. He’d gotten what he wanted, hadn’t he? Now hazel eyes opened, their expression tolerantly amused; now that sweet-lipped mouth quirked its corners up; and still that hand held him tight, _ah—_

“Good morning, Garak.”

Really, he could burst.

“Good morning, Doctor. Did you sleep well?”

A lazy blink. “Oh, yes. When I slept.” The smile widened. “I could have used a little more, to be honest with you.”

Ah. Well. “You’re certainly welcome to sleep longer, my dear; we have nothing to do.”

“Oh, no,” and Julian’s tone was rather amused, “after all, you’ve been awake for quite some time now; I really should wake up and keep you company, don’t you think?”

Oh, that _was_ embarrassing.

“And exactly how long have you been awake?”

Julian made a thoughtful face. “Oh, I should say… since you started puffing air at me?”

_Well, I never did have much use for dignity…_

“Ah.” He kept his face calm, and Julian grinned at him. “And may I ask why you felt the need to feign continued sleep?”

“Oh,” and a bit of a stretch, for dramatic effect, he was sure, “I was really rather curious as to what you’d do next. Bored Cardassians are very entertaining… or is that just you, Elim Garak?” And now Julian’s eyes widened, laughing up at him, and Garak really couldn’t find it in his heart to be irritated, _oh,_ those eyes, that smile…

And here was this morning, _perfect, it’s perfect,_ here was the sunlight, slanting in the window, here he was in bed with someone clever and charming and craved—

He leaned down and kissed Julian directly on that smug smile, and felt him laugh against his mouth; the grip on his wrist loosened, and Julian’s hand slid up to meet his own, fingers interlacing, _ah—_

He was weak, so weak, pliant and bending, and that had to be why when Julian suddenly turned the caress of hands into a shove, when he rolled himself over in one smooth movement and pushed Garak over onto his back, Garak was caught completely by surprise. The kiss broke as he thudded against the mattress, and he let out a small, startled grunt. He found himself staring up into two very amused eyes.

“That’s twice this morning I’ve surprised you, isn’t it. Pinch me, I must be dreaming.” Oh, Julian was so very pleased with himself, so very self-satisfied, and Garak found himself smiling up at him, fond and foolish; he saw Julian’s eyes widen, saw the softening of his gaze, the opening, the gentleness—

 _Hah!_ This was his chance – he struck, vigilant fingers ready for action, and tickled mercilessly, eliciting the most marvellous surprised shout—

And was pinned to the mattress by an irascible Julian Bashir, eyes widened now in a rather different way. _“Garak!”_

He blinked innocently. “Yes?”

“You – you are—” Such enchanting irritation!

“Charming? Delightful? Ah!” He widened his own eyes, all inspiration. “ _Perfect_ , perhaps?”

He saw Julian fight to keep his irritation alive, saw him fail, saw the laughter in his eyes; and when it burst from his lips, well, Garak felt charming and delightful and even perfect, all at once, because he’d made Julian laugh again – and on this ruined world, in this crumbling temporary-living complex, in this cramped apartment, Julian’s laughter spilled over and brightened all it touched.

_He makes everything beautiful – everything, always—_

Oh, he was truly helpless; the beauty caught him, tugged him up to catch Julian’s laughing mouth with his own, and the lazy morning wrapped around them both, and did not go at all to waste.


	2. vanilla smile and a gorgeous strawberry kiss

_i really don’t think it gets any better than this_  
 _vanilla smile and a gorgeous strawberry kiss!_  
 _birds sing, we swing, clouds drift by and everything is like a dream_  
 _it’s everything i’ve wished_

* * *

The first chance he’d had to sit and read in weeks, and he was finding it rather hard to follow the plot with all this noise.

 _Beep. Beep-bedeep._ “Damn. Um…” A pause. _Beep. Beep-bedeep._ “Really? Come on, now.” _Beep—_

“Doctor, may I be of assistance?” He kept his face polite, his smile calm, giving absolutely no indication that if Julian didn’t stop playing around with the replicator this instant, he was very possibly going to toss it out the window.

“Eh?” Julian looked up at him, a bit distracted. “Oh. No, I don’t think so, thanks,” and he poked at the little replicator again, eliciting another sequence of high-pitched beeps. They scraped at Garak’s nerves, and he let his smile widen just a fraction, just a hint of teeth, flashing.

“Really, my dear, I _insist.”_

The initial response to this was an eye-roll, _don’t bother me,_ but when Julian actually looked up again, Garak saw him register the smile, saw him stop and think. Julian’s brows rose, and his own little half-smile surfaced, playing around the corner of his mouth.

“Sorry, Garak; am I being irritating?”

“You? Never.”

“Right.” The little smile expanded to a grin, and Julian ducked his head, not really very contrite at all. “Sorry.”

“Hmph.” He allowed himself to be mollified, and now curiosity was briefly overwhelming his desire to read; he laid his PADD aside. “What exactly are you trying to do?”

“Oh, I’m just…” Julian sighed and suddenly looked a bit embarrassed, brows tilting. “It’s silly, really. I’m just trying to see if your replicator can make anything I’m even a little familiar with.”

“Tired of Cardassian cuisine so soon?”

“No, not exactly, it’s just that… well, as a culture, you do seem to go rather heavy on the sauces.”

He blinked. “Is that so?”

“Well, I mean, four kinds of sauce on my breakfast eggs alone?”

“That is the simplified recipe, Doctor. It’s all this replicator can manage.”

Julian’s exasperated expression was eloquent. “That’s exactly what I mean. Sometimes I like my food plain, you know?”

“Believe me, you would not like regova eggs plain.”

“That’s not the _point,_ Garak – oh, just… Never mind, all right?” Julian waved him off brusquely and turned back to the replicator, flexing his fingers, preparing for another round; more long-fingered pokes resulted in more plaintive beeps, and Garak suppressed a wince. _I don’t think I need to be here for this._ Especially when the likelihood increased with every second that the noise would drive him mad. 

He escaped out on to the balcony. The atmosphere out here was altogether more congenial, especially with the sun slanting down, heating the plascrete so pleasantly. The warmth was unexpected, almost hard to trust. The dust clouds still filled the sky most days, nearly blocking out the sun, and so the air was often so cold… really, it was almost patently unfair that he should suffer through seven years of chill, only to come home and find the atmosphere just as unwelcoming. _Or, perhaps, it is poetic justice._

Bah. It was self-indulgent to think such dark thoughts when the sky was that lovely shade of pink. Today, at least, the sun had found its way through the dust, and its warmth bathed him; it made him want to stretch, arms wide. Really, he felt rather like a small green shoot, uncurling from the dirt and reaching up for light – and _ugh,_ poetic justice indeed, his own predilection towards bad poetry was coming rather unfortunately to the fore with Julian’s arrival… _I am thinking almost entirely in doggerel._

That wasn’t necessarily such a terrible thing, though, was it? The quality of a poem couldn’t be assessed in a void, after all. He’d written rather a lot of poetry of late, and while none of it was anything he’d ever want to be traced back to him, he felt vaguely that it was unfair to dismiss those defenseless little scraps of nonsense as _bad._ Didn’t the value of a work depend on the audience it was intended for? Shouldn’t a poem be judged by whether it produced the intended emotional response?

Inside the apartment, he heard another series of beeps and a frustrated word, full of fricatives, and he smiled. No, not bad at all, those poems of his: they’d worked, hadn’t they? Although he did rather hope Julian had deleted them, as requested...

Ah, well, he had no say in the situation and was being foolish to boot, and meanwhile here was Kardasi’or spread out before him. Even in her current state of sad disrepair, she was still a longed-for sight. He rested his arms on the balcony wall, and let himself look.

It was rather amusing that the temporary lodgings provided to survivors were located in Coranum Sector. Once upon a time he would have been hard-pressed to afford even the smallest apartment here. _Now I luxuriate in a room with a view._ And what a view: blasted trees, dust-covered streets; the stately old homes were either in ruins, or converted to multi-family dwellings, bursting at the seams with displaced people. Their elaborate gardens were now overrun with vehicles, with building supplies, with children’s toys strewn hither and thither, with all the detritus of a society in upheaval, trying desperately to pretend that all was just as it had been.

_And is that so wrong…?_

Now he found himself squinting, letting his eyes slide nearly shut so that only the faintest trace of light could find them. He’d stood very near here, once, before… well, before everything. It had been perhaps twelve years ago, now; he’d stood outside on a much nicer balcony, the sounds of a party behind him, and he’d taken a moment to breathe, to escape the pressing-in of people around him…

It was before him as if it was happening now: the lights within the homes blazing bright and glorious, the people on the streets moving in their patterns, each bow and gesture a step in the great dance. The streets had stretched away into the dimming of the evening, illuminated with soft red light that cast a glow of late afternoon over the pavement, and the trees had waved gently over it all, the velial and mUra perched in their branches calling out to the night—

He blinked, and the vision was gone. _There is no point in dwelling on memories. Better to face the present as it is._

It was ugly. His mouth twisted.

Yet, somewhere, a mUra was calling; he craned his neck, looking up to the floors above, and saw it perched on some other lucky person’s balcony, screeching out its challenge. It didn’t seem to care that the world was upside down. Perhaps he could take a cue from that mUra and simply _be_ for a time, comfortable in his skin, caressed by warm air…

Hmmm, the sun was _so_ warm, truly. It shone down on him and on the balcony around him, and the heat radiating back up from the plascrete floor and half-walls was calming, pleasing; it was almost like the sauna at the public baths, and he leaned on the balcony wall, eyes closing, enjoying the feeling.

It would be even nicer if he sat, wouldn’t it? Ah, yes, it _was,_ and chairs weren’t necessary, not really, not when the balcony floor was so perfectly warm against him… now, he could lean back against the corner where two walls met, like _this_ , and then he had the warmth behind him and under him and radiating down atop him, and then he could rest his PADD in his lap so he could read _and_ enjoy… really, this was too wonderful, too good, like a lovely kind of dream… the mUra had it right…

Suddenly a sound jolted him – Julian’s voice, shouting – _what? What? Is someone—_

Old reflexes took over and he sprang to his feet, PADD forgotten, slid the balcony door open and was into the living area in moments, ready to fight, ready to take on whomever might be threatening Julian—

Who was sitting there in his underwear, looking up at Garak, rather taken aback.

“Sorry, did I wake you?” His brows tilted apologetically, and Garak was confused, muscles taut, heart pumping, _what?_

“Wake me? I…” _Wait, wait—_ He looked out the balcony door, saw the sun’s position, did a quick mental calculation – somehow an hour had slipped away from him, unmissed. _Did I really…?_ He was irritated at himself. _Sloppy._

Julian was watching him, and _apologetic_ had begun to shade into _amused_. “Yes, Garak. You fell asleep. I was going to come out to join you a while ago, but you were out cold.” Now _amused_ was definitely at the forefront. “Perhaps you missed a little too much sleep last night…?” And that last came with a grin, and a jaw-twitch, and the irritation that had been starting to build flowed away quite remarkably.

“Hmm. Perhaps.” He blinked once at Julian, slow and lazy, and saw the little flare of pleasure in his eyes, rather distracting, really…

But Elim Garak was, first and foremost, a curious creature. “Why were you shouting?”

Julian, reminded, laughed to himself. “Sorry about that – I was just surprised, I… well, look.” And he pointed to the replicator’s little screen, on which spun a small red fruit. “Your replicator can make strawberries!”

“Really!” He crossed the floor in two steps and crouched next to Julian, fascinated. “How unusual!”

“I know! I didn’t at all expect it—” As he spoke, Julian was tapping in the order. “It was a lucky find, really – I was just scanning through the fruit in hopes of recognizing _something,_ and…”

A soft hum, and the little replicator produced a plate of fruit; Julian’s smile was wide. “Ta-da!”

His brow-ridges twitched up. “Indeed.”

Delighted, Julian was already picking through the pile of berries, poking and prodding.

“What _are_ you looking for, my dear?”

The answer came in half-distracted tones. “The best one... The first bite is always the best, right? So I need to make it good…” Julian’s eyes were slightly narrowed as he winnowed through the little fruits.

Garak inclined his head, acknowledging the point, and watched with interest as Julian selected his first victim. The berry was lifted to catch the window’s light, was turned back and forth; its little green fronds were plucked off and discarded heartlessly, and the poor berry itself found its undoing at the lips of Julian Bashir. He had to admit, there were worse fates.

For a moment, Julian chewed happily, eyes closed… then the chewing paused, and his face took on a rather perplexed look.

 _Oh, dear._ He suppressed his smile. “How does it taste?”

Julian’s eyes opened, and he frowned into the middle distance. “Absolutely nothing like a strawberry.”

“Ah. Too bad.”

“Well, not really…” Now Julian was rolling the berry around his mouth, and he spoke carefully. “I mean, it’s not _bad,_ exactly…”

“What _does_ it taste like?”

A considering look crossed Julian’s face, and he swallowed. “It tastes… a bit like someone thought a strawberry should taste.” He picked up another impostor-berry and stared at it, bemused.

“Is it good?” Garak peered at the berry.

“Um… yes? The flavour is… well, it’s a bit vanilla …”

He didn’t know that word. “Vanilla?”

“You know,” and Julian gestured in air, grasping for a definition, “it’s a bit bland. A bit _boring.”_

“Ah. Vanilla.” He nodded to himself, and Julian caught his expression, raised a hand.

“No, wait – don’t file that one away! Vanilla’s not _really_ a word for bland, it’s just a flavour I don’t care for.”

This was a trifle confusing. “So vanilla is a flavour?”

“Yes.” A firm nod.

“And these berries taste like vanilla?”

“Oh, no.” Back to the perusal of the berry, now fixed with a faintly accusatory glare, and Garak was finding himself a bit sand-blind, here.

“What _do_ they taste like, then?”

Julian opened his mouth – closed it – grinned, and handed him the berry they’d been scrutinizing. “Find out for yourself.”

He blinked, then nodded, and popped it in his mouth with only minimal hesitation; after all, it very likely wasn’t poisonous. The replicator was of Cardassian make, after all, so its default settings would be safe for Cardassians; also, amusing thought, he probably hadn’t made enough enemies here yet for someone to actually hack his replicator—

But oh, contemplation was beside the point, because he knew this flavour – _bland? Really?_ Humans; they missed so much… Now, as he chewed, sun shone on him, a breeze blew over him; suddenly he was smaller, walking through the tall red grasses, half-bent over and running his fingers along the ground as he searched for the vines, for the little shapes, sweet and secret…

He found himself smiling. _Dreaming again, Elim?_

_No, just remembering…_

Julian watched him, half-laughing at his expression. “You recognize it, clearly.”

“I do, my dear. It tastes like hUr’Thniv.” Such a treat – he hadn’t had hUr’Thniv in… _years, at least. This day is full of little pasts…_ Memories flashed before him, and he couldn't find it in himself to tamp them down, not today; and his smile widened.

Julian’s unhappy noise pulled him back to himself.

“Scaly-berries?” The face Julian was making was decidedly _not_ a smile. Well, no wonder, with such a direct translation; Garak himself wouldn’t be particularly motivated to put something called a _scaly-berry_ in his mouth. _Someday we must do something about that translator._

For today, though, it would do, and in the meantime Garak could clarify. “Yes, my dear. Look—”

He reached past Julian to the little replicator, and tapped out of the ersatz-berry’s entry, back to berries, slid down a few pages, eyes scanning – yes, _there_ it was, and he pointed. Julian looked, and his slightly nauseated expression changed in a moment to amusement.

“They _do_ look like they have little scales, don’t they?”

“Hence the name, I suppose.” Goodness, to taste a hUr’Thniv again, to remember the grasses of the desert borderlands… It was an unexpected blessing to be graced with the broad, sharp-edged sweetness of a hUr’Thniv on his tongue, to feel its tart stab at his so’c, to savour the spark of the combination bursting within him…

His tentative calm toppled over; suddenly memories of Cardassia as she had been were spilling into him, and he was full, and yet not even close to satisfied. Memories of food couldn’t fill one up. The pretty little memories he’d been so delighting in were nothing against his present of dust clouds and broken buildings and families ripped apart. How foolish of him to try to blot out reality with dreams and wishes… _useless, useless—_

_Stop it, Elim._

This was what came of being lax with one's mental discipline. With practiced ease, he buried his turmoil within him; the sweetness stayed with him, though, and he licked a drop of juice from his lip.

Julian, meanwhile, was chewing thoughtfully on another berry, his initial displeasure apparently resolved. “Must’ve been a Cardassian programmer that built those ‘strawberries.’ I wonder why they’d bother making a Human fruit?”

That was an interesting question, more worthy of his thoughts than self-pity; he re-directed himself. “Who knows?” He shrugged, smiled lightly. “We do seem to have more than our share of alien visitors these days. Perhaps someone wanted to extend the hand of friendship.”

“To make Cardassia seem a bit more welcoming, you mean?” Julian snorted at that, and bit into another berry. “It’ll take more than a few pseudo-berries to do that. One taste, and the game is up.” His mouth was full, his voice indistinct.

“Well, at least the appearance is correct… they do look like strawberries, don’t they?" Garak was thoughtful. “At least, if the picture you showed me is accurate.”

“Oh, they got that bit right. And hey, not just that – they got the sticky part right too.”

That was actually rather distracting. “Excuse me?”

“You know – the mess!” Julian splayed his hands wide, laughingly displaying red-stained fingertips; his lips were coloured too, slightly wet with juice. “It’s hard to eat a strawberry without making a _bit_ of a mess.”

“Oh, dear.”

Julian caught the mild reproval in his voice and grinned at him, unabashed. “Don’t worry. I promise not to get it everywhere.”

Garak looked around at the tiny apartment, undecorated and sparsely furnished. Really, it hardly mattered; Julian could paint the place floor to ceiling with strawberries and it wouldn’t affect anything that Garak actually cared about.

The thought suddenly hurt. 

_There is nothing here for me. The Cardassia I loved lives in the past; I cannot touch her._ Lax, lax; undisciplined to even think it, and yet here it was boiling within him. 

All he could do for his Cardassia, now, was to try to rebuild her from a template of memories, one day at a time, and that was aching and endless and lonely. Everyone else was doing the same work, and everyone else hurt just as much as he did, and while some clung to each other to relieve their pain, he’d had too much practice setting himself apart.

_So here I am with my memories, always hungry, never full…_

Foolish. Self-indulgent. Perhaps Julian's presence was making him soft. He'd kept his control before this; he'd pushed it all down, put it all away, because who did it help if Elim Garak dissolved? No one. And so, as always, he was strict, he was disciplined, and every day was cold and bland and... and _vanilla._

But this moment, this now, tasted of hUr’Thniv.

His gaze slid back to Julian, just biting into another berry, and he found himself smiling.

Julian caught the look and raised his brows, mouth full, _what?_

_He is here. He is now. And I can touch him, and perhaps being weak is a fair trade for that—_

He moved swiftly, smoothly, catching one of Julian’s hands, red with juice, redolent with scent and sweetness; _ah,_ he opened his mouth and let the flavour settle on his so’c. Such a pleasant mixture: the taste of nostalgia and of the unfolding present, mixed together in this blend of happy Human and tart fruit. His eyes slid shut. _I think I shall make a new memory…_

“Garak…” Julian’s voice was amused. Well, let him laugh; this was delicious and to be savoured, and today was turning out to be rich with such things. He would not ignore them. He would grasp them, enjoy them; he flickered his tongue out, ran it along Julian’s sticky fingertips, _ah,_ a stab of pleasure, and with it that spark—

“Garak!” Now Julian’s voice was pleased in a very different way, half-flattered, half-fascinated; he felt Julian’s other hand settle against his cheek, warm and just a trifle wet with juice, and he leaned into it, turned to kiss its palm, _I am here, I am now_.

He spoke against Julian’s hand, delighting in the sensations of hot skin, the slight variations of skin across Julian’s palm, the pads beneath his fingers; ah, really, he felt rather licentious… “Do you know, my dear, I believe the flavour of these berries is very much enhanced by your own.”

Julian breathed a laugh, and the hand he held in his own twisted, bringing their palms together, interlacing their fingers, _oh,_ he was tingling, warmth spreading through his body from every place Julian touched him, _now, this moment—_

“That must have been a very restorative nap. I’m terribly glad I didn’t wake you.” Now Julian’s voice was low and soft and vibrant, and Garak felt him lean close, felt Julian’s breath against his ear, felt the responsive warming of the ridges there – oh, and that was a kiss pressed against those ridges, and perhaps now – yes, now a quick, sharp bite, my _goodness_ , Julian was a fast learner, and Garak was a lucky, lucky man.

_Far luckier than I have any right to be._

He turned sharply, eyes opening, and their faces were so close together; too close to focus, and so Julian was slightly blurry, angles softened. Julian’s eyes widened in surprise, and his mouth opened.

“What is it?”

He let himself smile wide, wide, flashing teeth, not at all vanilla, the kind of smile that would once have made Julian Bashir blush and stammer and flinch away – and oh, how _wonderful_ to see him instead smile back, the very same kind of smile, teeth bared, eyes intense, present and here and now. Sweat dripped from him in Cardassia’s heat, and his scent filled the room; the taste of him in Garak’s mouth was salty-sweet, _ah,_ and that was something he’d just begun to learn, something that couldn’t be found in any memory except the ones he was just now making…

_Far, far luckier. I must remember that._

This time Julian kissed his mouth, and the kiss was red and ripe and sweet and tart, past and present mixed together; it brought with it a taste of berries, a richly layered flavour, imprinted instantly in his mind and remembered even as the next kiss began—


	3. never guessed it got this good

_never guessed it got this good_  
 _wondered if it ever would_  
 _really didn’t think it could_  
 _do it again? i know we should!!!_

* * *

Once upon a time, Elim Garak had flattered himself on being an excellent observer of people. It was something he’d been trained to do, after all, and he’d taken to it naturally, honed on his uncle’s thoughtful lessons; from a few words, an assessment of posture and clothing, he could sketch out a pattern of behaviour, predict a response. He’d rarely been wrong, and this had become something of a point of pride.

And then a young Starfleet officer, naive and foolish and too lovely for his own good, had turned out to be rather more than this – had, in fact, up-ended all of Garak’s expectations. He’d been carrying secrets around that Garak had never suspected. He’d been carrying them for _years._ Through lunches and runabout flights and _imprisonment_ , for goodness’ sake, he’d kept his secrets close and had never let Garak have even a sniff of them.

When Garak had learned the truth, he’d been both extremely irritated and extremely impressed. He’d discarded the first emotion, retained the second: if this young man could fool him for so very long, perhaps there were depths to him never suspected. After that, he’d been on the lookout, watching him closely, and he’d thought then that he could predict just about any action Julian Bashir might care to take.

_Wrong again, I was wrong again—_

He had never predicted _this._

Here was Julian, leaning over him, one arm braced against the wall, the other supporting him, hand spread flat on the mattress, and he moved, and Garak moved with him—

There was Julian, asleep on his couch, nearly-naked and glistening with a thin layer of sweat, completely exposed and trusting, and Garak watched him—

Julian on the balcony, pointing out at the city, seeing Garak’s world with his own eyes—

Julian licking the filling from a crust of meraThapan, his brows rising as he tasted the complex spice—

Julian hearing a mUra call and laughing, trying to imitate it—

Julian, here, on Cardassia, with him.

_Dreamed of it, perhaps. But never dared to predict it._

And now there were so many things to learn, a delightful welter of new information to be stored and catalogued and filed. As the days unspun themselves, he took inventory:

First: that when they lay together and he slid his hand _this_ way, the little hairs on Julian’s skin stood on end, and his lovely long body shivered.

Second: that pinning Julian down and biting just _here_ , combined with a flicker of tongue against warm skin, could elicit a half-wail that was really rather amusing. And, addendum and underlined, that one should not laugh.

Third: that no matter how enchantingly exposed it might be, the Human navel was not an orifice with which much could be done, and that pressing the matter resulted in a Human convulsed with laughter and really quite useless for any other pursuit.

Fourth: that Julian had never had his feet kissed before – really? Never? Mercies, the galaxy was filled with idiots – and that his response to Garak giving them their proper due was a worryingly adorable mixture of mild embarrassment and eyelid-drooped pleasure.

Fifth: that two people could, in fact, fit in his shower stall, despite its small size, and that miraculously he could tolerate this as long as the stall door was left open.

Sixth: that it really didn’t take all that long to clean up four iceksamlan of water on the bathroom floor, as long as one had help, and that it was apparently worth doing multiple times if required.

Seventh: that Julian could sing, and that their voices blended well; that “Jerusalem” was pleasantly challenging, if somewhat steeped in obscure cultural metaphor; that “March to Ha’kek” sounded incredibly charming when sung with a Federation Standard accent.

Eighth: that his scales left small red marks on Julian’s skin, about which Julian was first rather obstreperous, and then perversely proud. Battle scars, indeed.

Ninth: that eating in bed was ridiculously pleasant and hedonistic, and that crumbs in the sheets were sometimes a necessary evil – and, addendum, that one could do rather interesting things with jem’Uv syrup, although it was sometimes rather sticky.

Tenth: that the outside world could vanish; that Cardassia could just as well be Terok Nor; that a thin, horrible subsistence-level mattress could be all that was needed; that a universe could be contained in one man’s eyes.

And here was the funniest thing: all of these new things he was learning, all the new information – some of it was new information about Julian, yes, but an astounding amount of it was new information about _himself._

_Elim Garak. Middle-aged and disillusioned. Who could have guessed you had so much foolish optimism within you?_

Certainly not he; he knew better than to expect new behaviour from a long-watched target. It only led to missed guesses, to poor predictions; no, if one wanted to be right, one should always bank on things staying the same.

_And yet—_

Julian’s hands caressed his face; he pressed into them and closed his eyes.

_I never could have guessed it could be this good._


	4. so fizzy i could burst

_the sun is up_  
 _i’m so fizzy i could burst!_  
 _you wet through, and me headfirst into—_  
 _this is perfect_  
 _it’s all i ever wanted_  
 _oh, it feels so big it almost hurts!_

* * *

“You’re right. We should have stayed in the apartment.”

Julian hadn’t said much for the last block or so, and this wasn’t an auspicious thing to say now. Garak turned to look at him and, oh, this wasn’t good. Humans almost certainly weren’t supposed to pale quite that much, and the sweating was becoming rather profuse…

“Are you all right, my dear?” He tightened his arm around Julian’s, squeezed his hand, watched him sway; no, he was _not_ all right, and Garak caught him as he started to buckle.

“Sorry…” Even as his knees went, the man was apologizing. _Mercies._ Garak found himself torn between the polar extremes of wanting to tug him close and make it better, and wanting to punt him down the street and have done.

“You are—mmph—aside from being extremely heavy, my dear, you are _ridiculous._ _”_ Now he had Julian more or less draped over him, and while in many circumstances this would be quite nice, in this particular case it was very worrying.

“Just… I just need a minute, I think…” Julian mumbled into his shoulder, and goodness, this was foolish from start to finish.

“Are all Humans this stubborn, or is it just you?” Here, here was shade, under the propped concrete edges of a building reduced mostly to rubble. Well, the aesthetics didn’t matter, did they: the crumbled roof was fulfilling its function, providing shelter, and Garak found that slightly amusing even as he half-dragged Julian into the little bit of darkness it offered. “Here. Stay still.”

His only acknowledgement was a rather pathetic little moan. _Not good_ _…_

“I’ll get you something to drink. Wait here. _Don't move."_

“Thanks, Garak…”

“Maddening. You are maddening.”

That last got him a sort of _urgh_ sound, equal parts infuriating and worrying and one hundred percent motivating; his legs were carrying him back down the street before his brain had quite caught up to the situation. _Street vendor. I know I saw a street vendor._ For pity’s sake, the man was a doctor; shouldn’t he know what environmental conditions his body could handle? Forty degrees, hadn’t he said forty degrees? _Wasn_ _’t he just by this building? Has he moved on? I’ll have to—_ oh, there the man was. **Drinks,** read the sign on the little cart. Excellent: entrepreneurial spirit of Cardassia on display, three cheers for the Union, mercies, he’d _told_ him, he’d warned him that Cardassia’s summer might be just a trifle much for a newly-arrived Human, but no, Dr. Julian Bashir was impervious to harm, and—

“Salmakt, esteemed sir… are you all right?”

Oh. He’d been muttering. _That_ _’s never good._

“My apologies, my dear sir. I’m simply distracted. Tell me, what have you in the way of refreshment?”

The man blinked, smiled, bowed in recognition of the game. His posture offered _anticipation_. “Ah, today I have water, and for the discerning connoisseur, water with a twist of le-mon.”

“My goodness. With such a variety, how am I to…” One moment. “Lemon? As in the Earth fruit?”

“Ah, you recognize it.” Interest in the man’s eyes. Perhaps not ideal.

“I’ve travelled off-world,” neatly deflecting the unspoken question, “but tell me, where did you lay your hands on…?”

“Courtesy of our Federation _friends,_ ” and there was a bit of a hiss in the man’s voice, “as all things are, these days.”

How awkward. How accurate. And the man’s nostrils were flaring slightly; _no doubt I_ _’m redolent of Human._ “Isn’t it kind of them to look out for our needs…”

The man’s brow ridges rose very slightly. “Many find the Federation to be very… benevolent.”

_Hmm. Charming._

They smiled at each other. Garak blinked slowly, tilted _decision._ “By all means, then, let me have lemon. Why not live luxuriously?”

“Indeed. For you, one lek.”

Outrageously expensive. Insultingly so. It didn’t matter.

“A bargain at twice the price.”

Thumb to padd and drink in hand, and their little deal was done. Garak bowed, received his bow in turn, turned and headed back to the Human awaiting his tender mercies. _And how nice that he wasn_ _’t with you, Elim. Can you imagine how much more excitingly that little interaction might have gone if there’d been a Human to attract that pleasant man’s interest?_

This would be an ongoing issue, and therefore he didn’t need to resolve it right now. What he did need to do was get some of this disappointingly lukewarm water into Julian’s system, and so he jogged a bit to get back to the makeshift shelter as quickly as he could. When he arrived, he found Julian had pushed himself half-upright and was leaning on his arms, trying not to collapse all over again. Maddening, honestly maddening: could the man not listen just _once?_

“Oh, you are truly trying my patience today, Doctor…”

That got him an apologetic look, weary but still laughing. “Sorry, Garak. I don’t mean to be a trial… oh, is that _water?_ _”_ That last was said in the tones of a man offered nectar of f’Irit.

“It is. Here. Drink it.”

“Oh, thank God,” and Julian grabbed it, popped the seal, poured it liberally over his face—

“What are you _doing?_ _”_

“ _Eurgh!_ Oh, God—”

“You are insane!” He snatched the bottle back from Julian, looked at it—half gone! _Has the heat gone to his brain?_ “Why ever did you _do_ that?”

“To cool off—Garak, you didn’t tell me it was _carbonated._ _”_ Julian’s tone was reproachful, _reproachful,_ the man didn’t even have the common decency to be embarrassed! Now he was sniffing the air, frowning a little. “Why do I smell of lemons?”

_Elim Garak, this is the man you wrote poems about._

“I bought you this to _drink._ Do you need me to pin your hands and pour it in your mouth?”

Julian looked at him sideways. “No need to be so cranky about it.” He reached for the bottle. Garak’s first instinct was to yank it away, to insist on doling it out in small, approved doses… there really wasn’t any way to do that, though, not without instigating something of an incident. _Fine._ He handed it over, and Julian obediently sipped at it, watching Garak warily.

“How is it?” He pitched his voice to be sweet, solicitous.

Julian frowned at him, not at all appreciative of his tender care. “Fine. Wet. Lemony. Look, I’m sorry, I just really wanted to wash off the sweat.”

“There are other ways to manage that which do not cost one lek apiece.”

“A lek? Is that a lot?”

 _Mercies._ Sometimes he despaired of the Federation, he really did. “Just drink it.”

Down it went, and he watched closely to ensure Julian finished every last gulp. He seemed somewhat better… then again, it was hard to tell under that coating of salty ooze.

“Do you need more?”

“No, thank you…” Julian wiped his brow with a forearm. “God, it’s hot.”

“I did tell you it would be hot.”

“Yes, you did.” He sighed. “Perhaps we should head back to the apartment, do you think…?”

Garak considered him: slightly woozy, a trifle apologetic, a bit dejected at his outing being cut short. _Really._ The man was thirty-five years old. Where was his maturity?

 _Where is yours, Elim?_ Because he couldn’t say no to Julian, could he. “Don’t worry, Doctor… I think I can find a way to show you the sights without, perhaps, overheating you quite so terribly.”

Julian looked up, hope in his horribly manipulative eyes. “Really?”

“Really. Now, let me think.” He closed his eyes, looked, found Cardassia City in his head, expanded it, _if I am here then it is_ _… yes, there,_ and he opened his eyes, looked east, nodded firmly.

“Come, Doctor.”

* * *

“A river?”

“Mmm.” Garak nodded, smiling, looking down with no small amount of pleasure at how the Derbik’Harit rippled beneath them.

“Right in the middle of the city?”

“Indeed.”

“It looks manmade.”

“It is. It was purposely included in the design of the city when it was built.”

“I’m astounded it’s still here…”

Garak turned, looked at him. “Now where would it go?”

“No, that’s not what I mean.” Julian waved a hand. “It’s just… you know, after the bombardments…”

“This river would flow no matter what happened to the city, my dear. Everything around it could be rubble. The river would still flow.”

Julian flicked a look at him, not understanding. Ah, well. He didn’t have to understand what the river meant to enjoy it.

“Come along. Watch your step.”

Julian followed him as he picked his way down the bank to the riverside, balanced himself on a large, flat stone. There were a few other people resting by the river, some women sunbathing, a man eating a meal; a little further down there were children splashing in the river’s flow. How funny. He was almost proud to see it. _We are strong. We go on._

Julian, next to him, drew in a long breath. He turned to see him smiling, eyes closed. “Mmm. This was a good idea, Garak. It’s cooler here…”

“It will be even cooler when you get in.”

Those eyes opened. “I’m sorry?”

How charming. This would be a pleasant surprise. “Come on. We’re going for a swim.”

Now Julian’s brows drew down. “In _that?_ _”_

 _That_ indeed. “Now why ever would you object to a swim in the Derbik’Harit?”

“Well, I… I mean… is it safe?”

Garak blinked at him, indicated the children splashing in the river with a nod of his head. “Clearly. Not for drinking, perhaps, but what free-flowing water is? Come, Doctor—”

“I haven’t got a swimming suit. I’ll just jump in naked, shall I?” Oh, and now he thought he was being risque? Surprise after surprise, indeed.

“Of course you will. It’s what I intend to do.” He began to unfasten his tunic.

“Garak!” Dear, dear, how delightfully scandalized he was!

He chose a slightly admonishing tone. “There’s nothing sexual about this, Doctor. It’s just swimming. Do hurry up, you’re falling behind.” Now he slipped his arms out of his tunic, folded it neatly—

“I am _not_ taking off all of my clothes in _public._ _”_ It was more of an embarrassed hiss than it was a real demurral. Garak smiled to himself.

“How unexpectedly prudish of you. Tell me, Doctor: is it Federation protocol to flout the customs of non-member species?”

“Customs?”

He turned, gestured, one hand already fiddling with the closure to his pants. “How many clothed people do you see?”

Julian squinted in the afternoon sun, brows drawing down. There was a pause. “Oh, you’re joking…”

“I am obviously not joking—”

“You didn’t tell me that Cardassians swim naked, Garak…!” It was almost a moan. Mercies, this was fun, and that was his trousers taken care of. As he spoke, he folded them, placed them neatly with his tunic and sandals.

“The subject never came up. Much to my chagrin. Now, are you going to follow suit, or shall I strip you myself?”

That got him an irritated look—accompanied by a small blush, how delightful! Poor stubborn dear. Really, he shouldn’t tease.

He leaned forward, taking care to make his expression as sympathetic as he could. “What’s the matter, my dear? You’re usually much more adventurous than this.”

Julian puffed an irritated little breath and looked away. “I cannot believe I am standing here with a naked Cardassian.”

“With many naked Cardassians. Join us, do.”

Another roll of the eyes. “Look, I don’t… I don’t tuck everything away as neatly as you do, all right?”

Ah. Well, yes, that was true. Fascinatingly true. Hmm. “I doubt it will be an issue. You’re planning on swimming, yes? Not sunbathing? No one will know.”

 _“I’ll_ know.”

“Oh, come now, Doctor,” and he let himself laugh, how could he not? “In the spirit of cultural exchange, hmm?”

Julian rolled his eyes, hissed at him, “I just don’t see why cultural exchange has to begin with my private parts.”

Oh, truly. “Do you really expect me to believe that this would be the first time?”

“Ha ha. Very funny. You’re a laugh riot.”

He inclined his head, made a happy little sound of acknowledgement; goodness, he really could tease the man all day. Julian was ignoring him now, though, in favour of the water. That was probably a good sign. He did eventually want to get him in there.

“Is it very deep?” Julian frowned at the river as if questioning its motives.

“More than deep enough.”

A shake of the head. “I don’t… Garak, you know, I just don’t—”

And that was really more than enough; mercies, if the man didn’t know what was good for him, wasn’t it lucky that Garak did? Easy enough to fix the problem: he planted a hand firmly between Julian’s shoulder-blades and shoved. It wasn’t an elegant solution, as exemplified by the angry shout that accompanied Julian’s rather ungainly topple. The splash as he hit the water, though, was loveliness itself.

The water roiled for a moment before being broken by the rather mussed head of one soggy Human, already in mid-shout: _“Garaaa—”_

Ah, but Garak missed the end of that particular admonition as he hit the water. Rather a nice dive, if he did say so himself _._ The water was pleasantly cool on his skin, although he didn’t quite dare open his eyes to fully enjoy the sensation. Clean was only true for a given value of clean, after all. He didn’t need his eyes to find Julian, though; mercies, with the amount of thrashing the man was doing, one would think he _wanted_ a predator to find him. It was so tempting… no. No, decorum must be maintained.

Still, it was rather amusing to pop out of the water within three iceksamlan of Julian’s face. Oh, how put out he was. Garak met that sour face with his sweetest smile.

“How’s the water?”

“I’m half tempted to drown you.”

“You’re welcome to try.” He let himself slip backwards into a lazy float, enjoying how the water bore him up, cradled him.

An irascible puff of air seemed to be the only response he was going to get. Well, more of a tiny water spout, truly. Oh, well; if Julian wanted to pout, that was fine. Garak was more than happy to drift in the water, to look up at the sky, to pretend its frame of crumbling buildings didn’t exist.

And it didn’t, not really… not when he could remember an afternoon not so long ago, floating here with friends; an afternoon of lazy splashes and sips of kanar and general contentment with life… How had the sky looked, that day? Very much the same, he thought. He’d been happy, that day.

Well, in truth, he was happy _today_ too, but it was a rather different kind of happiness, wasn’t it? Today he had the happiness of someone with nothing left to lose, and it did have its own appeal, but…

He remembered. Back then he’d had everything in the world, everything a person could want. He’d been powerful, connected; he’d thrummed at the centre of Cardassia’s web, and with every thread he’d tugged he’d felt an answering pull, had known that he was recognized and needed. Oh, the delight of that day… he’d nearly split with the pleasure of it, of being exactly where he ought to be. He closed his eyes, remembering, trying to compare the joy of now with the pleasure of then… Which was better? Did it matter? Mmm, the memory was a sweet ache. He let the past shimmer brightly against the present, watched the buildings reconstruct themselves behind his eyes—

“Salmakt, esteemed sirs!”

Mercies, was it too much to ask for one good bout of nostalgia?

With a bit of an irritated splash, he set himself upright again, looked to see who was addressing them.

Oh. The two children he’d seen earlier had swum over to investigate. He’d have done much the same, in their position.

“Salmakt. How does the day find you?”

“Very well.” Formalities concluded, one of the boys looked over at Julian, who was treading water in a vaguely irascible way.

“Are you a Human?”

Ah. This was interesting. He waited, watching.

Julian blinked at them, smiled. “Yes, I am.”

“Why are you in your clothes?”

 _Ha._ He smirked at Julian, who ignored him resolutely.

“Well, that’s a bit of a long—”

The other boy broke in. “Humans swim in their clothes. Don’t you know _anything?_ _”_

“You’re making things up again, Januk—”

“No, it’s true!” He turned to Julian, all offended dignity. “Isn’t it true? I’m right!”

“Um… You’re sort of right. We have special swimming clothes.”

The two boys looked him over, exchanged a glance.

“They look a lot like regular clothes…”

“No, he said they’re special—”

“Why don’t they just swim naked? It would be more comfortable…”

“Maybe he doesn’t know?” That thought made Januk’s brow ridges twitch, and he turned to Julian with an earnest expression. “Didn’t you know? You can swim naked! You should try it!”

“My goodness. What a clever young man.” Garak used his best _solicitous elder_ voice, saw the little acknowledging flick of Januk’s eyelids.

“I’ll consider it.” Julian’s tone was amused, if a trifle strained.

Marvellous: inter-cultural interaction. Start with the young, make them see that this particular Human was no threat, except perhaps to one’s dignity… It was a thought. _Some day._

For now, though, as thought-provoking as this little interaction was turning out to be, it was probably time to set Julian free. He switched to a formal tone, did his best to approximate a straight-backed posture of _age-superior._ “Where are your guardians?”

The boys looked at him, snapped instantly into floating _age-inferior_ acknowledgement. Januk spoke hesitantly. “They’re further down… we’re just swimming by ourselves—”

“Perhaps you should go and find them, hmm?”

“Uh—” A brief exchange of looks, _adult, yes, no fun, no._ “Yes, sir.” Both boys nodded back at Julian, chorused “Your health!”, then turned like slippery fish and slipped below the water. Their progress away was visible only in the little vee of waves they left behind.

Garak watched and smiled, remembering. He slid a look at Julian, caught him with much the same expression. He widened his eyes, inviting comment.

“Nothing. Just… kids.”

“Mmm.”

Julian’s tone was thoughtful. “You know, I think those two were the first people I’ve met on this planet who didn’t look at me as if I were some sort of bug.”

_He knows?_

_Of course he knows, Elim._

He looked at Julian, not quite knowing what to say. Julian smiled at him, his expression reassuring. “Don’t worry. It’s all right.”

“Is it?”

A shrug. “It has to be.”

Ah. That one he understood. He inclined his head, _acceptance,_ and while Julian might not be able to read the exact intonation of his second tongue, some things seemed to be universal: Julian did the same thing back.

“I am certain that Cardassia will get used to you, my dear.”

“How very wise of Cardassia. Because, let me tell you,” and now Julian smiled darkly, let his voice slip low, “it doesn’t have a choice.”

_Oh, mercies!_

He was suddenly all a-flutter in a public place. Not appropriate, not at all, but that voice, those eyes, that hint of threat, _oh,_ really—and now Julian’s eyes widened, taking him in. That dangerous smile suddenly flashed to a full-out standard-issue Julian Bashir grin.

“Pull yourself together, Garak.”

 _Oh,_ and now Julian was going to be inappropriate too? Unbearable— “Don’t be crude.”

“It’s a Human expression.”

“Really? How odd.” He blinked, thought briefly and intently of cold water, streams of it, _weh,_ oh, that was already slightly better. Good enough for him to be able to carry on a little more of a conversation, at least. “Why ever would you use that phrase?”

“I think it might mean something different to us.”

“It would have to.” Whew. Very well. Better. He could think again, at least.

And then that once again went by the wayside as Julian bounced a little and threw himself backwards in the water, more than a little theatrically. Oh, dear. His clothes clung to his body—oh, and now he was stretching himself out into a star float, and this _honestly_ was not at _all_ fair.

“My dear.” There was protestation in his voice. There had to be.

“What?” Julian’s voice was all innocence.

He’d brought it on himself. He had. But his penance might not be entirely onerous; here was Julian’s foot, wiggling invitingly in its dripping sandal. He rather wanted to bite it. He didn’t.

“And what am I to do with that, my dear?”

“You want my clothes off? _You_ take them off.”

_Julian Bashir, you are going to pay for this._

“We are in public, my dear.”

“Yes, we are.” Julian’s expression was just a trifle admonishing, his voice slightly disappointed in Garak’s prurience. “It’s just _swimming,_ Garak. I need some help with the fasteners now that you’ve gone and gotten them all wet. Nothing sexual about it.” He batted his lashes. He actually batted them. “Can’t I ask my tailor friend for a favour now and then?”

_He’s really going to do this._

“A favour.”

“Please.” That last was said with just a bit of a pout, and damn the man, _damn_ the man.

I’m _really going to do this._

“Very well. Hold still.”

Cold rivers. Snow-capped mountains. _No threat, indeed. Then why am I so helpless?_ Ah, such pretty toes…

As he unbuckled Julian’s sandals, unfastened his tunic, slipped him free of his river-soaked pants, all with propriety, all with the utmost in decorum, he fizzed like lemon water.


	5. do it some more? i know we should!!!

_never guessed it got this good_  
 _wondered if it ever would_  
 _really didn’t think it could_  
 _do it some more? i know we should!!!_

* * *

It’s no use. He can’t control himself.

He’d been so good at it once, honed by years of strict self-control, of relentless vigilance, of monitoring his every step, and all it’s taken to destroy all his safeguards is one man, pretty and clever and aggravating beyond description.

Garak’s body grapples with the need to express its delight, its spinning pleasure. His heart races. His palms tingle. He sings unexpectedly. And as if all of this is not bad enough, his mind has turned against him, and within him springs, eternally and ridiculously, a fountain of terrible poetry.

Similes whirl in his mind, metaphor drips from his tongue, and it’s all he can do to keep from comparing Julian to everything that crosses his mind. Audibly, at least. Between his ears, though, there seems to be an endless drippy patter of besotted nonsense, spouting without cease. His conscious mind decides firmly, every day, that this really must stop; his subconscious nods, smiling, and does it some more.

A tree is Julian, long-limbed and lean, reaching up to trigger the window. A red-splashed velial preens like Julian in the morning mirror. The sun shines warm like, yes, Julian’s smile, and the soft touch of a k’selses petal feels very much like Julian’s skin, most certainly, how could he doubt it? Even the name itself, _Julian, Julian,_ dances from his tongue, spins into the air like a child’s dizzy top, seems to hide itself behind and within everything around him so that the turn of a page, the beep of a replicator, the hum of the fresher breathes _Julian._

It’s _embarrassing._

He’s always been a man of well-chosen words, never afflicted by what the Humans call _esprit d’escalier_ and the Kardasi term leig ve’ot gavr’tef; he’s always been a man who had the right word on his tongue at the right time, and he’s never, ever found himself saying entirely the wrong thing. But he’s starting to feel that perhaps his time is coming.

He’s managed, thus far, to avoid complete humiliation… but this just keeps getting better, better and impossibly better, and truly, how much can one man be expected to withstand?

And now, now at this moment Julian breathes in his ear, now he holds himself still and feels Julian moving on him, in him, now Julian’s eyes are so close and Julian’s mouth trembles and suddenly he can’t help it, he’s gasping, whispering, ”ss’lei tasehvt-zasehv’I, nu ss’lei-ik, Thuza, mennu kalis’sit’U, cufnu kahik’U, ss’lei, Thuza, ka nu usU-tuCheldet’U,” and as Julian’s rain comes he pours words over him, _oh,_ it’s lovely and perfect as Julian crumples down over him and everything is marvellous for a few moments until he realizes what he’s just said.

He stares at the ceiling, waiting for what he knows is coming.

“Oh, Elim… that was very good…” A quiet breath, a kiss on his ear ridge. Now Julian arranges himself loosely around his shoulder, presses in as close as he can, and it’s like being wrapped in sunlight, _stop it, stop it, stop it!_

Nothing more for a moment, and he has time to be hopeful. Perhaps the translator didn’t catch it, or perhaps Julian wasn’t paying attention—certainly the noises he’d been making suggested a mind enthusiastically pursuing other objectives— _please?_

“Did you… say something? When I, um…?”

Ah, but this was a genetically engineered mind he was dealing with, wasn’t it…

“Did I? I confess, I wasn’t really paying attention…”

“Hmm. Well, that’s nice.” Another kiss, lazy and long, lips half-opened like a flower in the _no._ “But I’m sure I heard you say something… didn’t catch all of it, but… I think you called me ‘beautiful,’ which I rather liked…”

“Mmm…” Well, that’s all right so far.

“And something about… twining?”

And that is less so. He blinks at the ceiling, frowns in concentration. “Twining? Truly?”

“That’s what it sounded like… ‘twining.’ And ‘mess’, I think.”

Now he settles an incredulous look on his features. “Dear me. What kind of nonsense was I babbling?”

“I don’t know… why don’t you tell me?” Julian is half-laughing into his ear. It tickles, and he shifts his head irritably.

“You really shouldn’t press a man about what he says in the heat of the moment, my dear.”

“Oh, but I’m so very curious…”

“And nosy.”

“Mmm, yes, that too… come on, won’t you tell me?”

“I simply don’t remember.” And that’s that.

Julian sighs in mild exasperation, rolls over on to his back, arms splayed wide; one of his hands traces up and down the ridge of Garak’s Chula, and it’s a lazy tickle, like the wind in the branches of a—

_Can I really not stop for even one minute?_

“All right. You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to.”

“I truly do not recall—”

“Of course you don’t.” But Julian’s voice isn’t particularly upset; instead, it holds lazy amusement, and Garak smiles next to him.

Now Julian rolls over, props his head on his arm, frowns at him with pleasure in his eyes. “Don’t think that I’ll forget, though. I’ll find out some day what you meant.”

He really should not be made this dizzy by a mere mention of _some day._ He most certainly will not let it show. “It’s good to have something to hope for, my dear.”

That nets him a sharp poke in the shoulder. He nips at the offending finger and it’s quickly withdrawn. Julian breathes laughter.

“’Flower-with-a-greenish-centre.’ That’s so _unwieldy.”_

 _Oh…!_ Can that really be how it translates? But it misses so much, there’s no nuance to it, no _poetry—_

“Sorry, did I not quite get that right?” And Julian’s watching him, eyes slightly narrowed, that wide smile on his face.

He blinks, smiles.

“As close as your language can come, I suppose.”

Julian snorts a laugh. It’s like music. It shouldn’t be, but it is.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just for giggles, here is a literal translation of Garak's murmured endearment.
> 
> The term "ss'lei" is originally from the works of [prairiecrow](http://archiveofourown.org/users/prairiecrow/pseuds/prairiecrow/works?fandom_id=8474). She was kind enough to let me borrow it for my own silly business, and here is how I read it:
> 
> A ss'lei is a type of Cardassian vine. It tends to grow a bit wild, and is sometimes dusted with tiny green-hearted flowers that are, apparently, rather the shade of Julian Bashir's eyes. For more information, see [Learning to Speak](http://archiveofourown.org/works/672589?view_full_work=true).
> 
> **ss’lei tasehvt-zasehv’I, nu ss’lei-ik, Thuza, mennu kalis’sit’U, cufnu kahik’U, ss’lei, Thuza, ka nu usU-tuCheldet’U**
> 
> translates, more or less, to:
> 
> ss'lei untamed-beautiful'in present, my ss'lei, please, around-me you-tie (as with a rope)'in future, in-me you-root'in future, ss'lei, please, you me messy-cause to become'in future
> 
> It's a charming language, isn't it?


	6. say it will always be like this

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dialogue, nonsense, lies.

_say it will always be like this_  
 _the two of us together_  
 _it will always be like this_  
 _forever and ever and ever (and ever, and ever)_

* * *

It's a young night, a fresh night. The dust isn't as bad today, the heat is less intense. The moons are almost as bright as day. They shine through the little window, casting oval moonbeams on the wall, and he gazes at the patterns through the liquid in his glass, then nudges his partner and holds it up before him so he can see, too.

"Look: rainbows."

Julian's mouth drops open. "That _can't_ be good."

Garak shrugs, and Julian stares into his own cup curiously.

“This stuff is abominable, isn't it.”

“Yes.”

"I'd go so far as to say horrible.”

“I agree.”

“Pour me another, please?”

“Mmmph,” and he does, tipping the jar, pouring with care, spilling anyway. They tap their cups together, sip, wince.

“Ugh.”

“The finest my new Cardassia can offer...”

“What’s it made of?”

“Bet’to. Of course.”

“Right. The ubiquitous, ever-present—”

“Ever-unpleasant—”

“Effervescent?”

“Sadly, no.”

“I almost miss kanar.”

“I know I do.”

“At least this does get one awfully drunk.”

“It does, at that.” His thoughts are slow, his mouth is lazy, and there’s very little thought required, really, when one is mostly naked with a warm, equally lazy, more-than-mostly naked Human using one as a sort of full-body pillow.

“Come here.”

“I _am_ here. Clearly."

“No, come on, just— Mmmm... that’s good, yes, thank you.”

“I aim to please...”

“You certainly do, God, I’m still a bit...”

“Hmm... really?”

“No word of a lie...” One of those pretty hands reaches out and scratches at his mec'hUt, and he arches his back, wriggles rather shamelessly.

“Like that, do you?”

He smiles, eyes closed. “You learn quickly.”

“Always have. Here, let me just—”

“Mm?” Oh, there's a great deal of movement all of a sudden—

“No, it’s fine, just move your leg... see, isn’t that better?”

It is better, and now his leg isn’t tingling from lack of circulation, and Julian is clever, clever. He kisses him, and they both taste like bet’esk.

“My pretty, clever doctor.”

“Flatterer.”

“Yes, most absolutely.”

“Never used to be.”

“Not so. I called you pretty things any chance I could.”

“Wasn’t often.”

“I didn’t get many chances.”

“Hmm... and now you simply fountain with compliments... it could go to a man’s head, you know...”

“That _is_ the idea... lean over, won’t you, let me—”

“Oh, yes... mmm, careful... won’t be talking much if you do that...”

“Can’t have that... if Julian Bashir isn’t talking, something is dreadfully wrong with the universe...”

“Ha ha. Your own fault.”

“Do tell.”

“You encourage me. You make me worse.”

“Mmm, good… slide down to my level, won’t you?”

Lazy mouths, lazy lips. Goodness, he’s warm. They're both breathing bet'esk. He could get drunk off Julian's breath alone. _Well, nothing new there._

"What're you giggling about?"

"Not giggling. I don't giggle."

"You do. You giggle incessantly."

"Say that again."

"Don't think I could. Too many syllables. More horrible, please."

Another tap, another sip.

"Tell me some nonsense. I'm in the mood for nonsense."

"Nonsense?"

"Mmm. Your stock in trade."

"Oh, come now."

"Getting worse, too."

"I am not."

"You are so. Constant babbling."

"I don't know what you mean."

"'Shining eyes,' 'willowy limbs'…"

"Oh, must you?"

"You said it. 'Like a pleot diving,' you said."

"I shudder to recall."

"You love it. Every second of it. You're mad about me."

"I admit to some fondness, but I don't know if I'd go so far as—"

"Liar, liar, liar," and he's cut off by soft lips, redolent of cheap liquor; afterwards, Julian nestles up against him, draping a thigh over his middle, and stares at him with enormous besotted eyes. "Tell me some lies, liar."

Looking into those eyes is taking up most of his attention. He lets his mouth do as it will; it rarely lets him down. "Any lies in particular? Or simply whatever comes to mind?"

"No, I've something in mind."

"Go on."

"But I warn you, it'll be a bit maudlin."

Now Julian relaxes, still folded over him, and tucks his head into the curve between neck and shoulder. His cheek is warm, his skin is soft; he's heavy and loose and really something of a living blanket. He's delectable. Also, he's put those eyes away, and that gives Garak a bit more processing power, which is nice. There is something to be said, after all, for wit.

"Dear me."

"I know."

"And you're usually so stolid."

"Shut up."

"Almost cold, I find."

"Be quiet."

There is also something to be said for teasing.

"How can I lie to you if I'm being quiet?"

"You'd find a way. Now listen. I… um…"

"Oh, don't stall."

"Not stalling. I'm… I did warn you this would be maudlin."

"Ah…?"

He can't see Julian's face, but he hears the laugh, feels the puff of breath against his neck.

"I want you to tell me this is all going to work out."

Oh. That kind of lie. He blinks up at the ceiling.

"With some elaboration, I assume?"

"Oh, yes. Tell me… hmm. Tell me you've fallen madly in love with me. Tell me we're going to spend the rest of our lives in bed, fucking each other senseless—"

"Language, Julian."

"Mmm. Sorry. Bet'esk. Making love to each other, then."

"Saccharine."

"You're being picky."

"I expect nothing but the best from you."

"Sleeping together?"

"Have you been sleeping? You've managed very well, considering."

"No, that's— 'sleeping together' means 'having sex.'"

"Your language is so imprecise…"

"Are you trying to divert me?"

"Not at all."

Julian lifts his head to glower down at him, and Garak smiles as charmingly as he knows how.

"Please, my dear, do go on."

Mollified, Julian's head thumps back on to Garak's chest where it belongs. He smiles up at the ceiling.

"All right. Where was I?"

"Madly in love. Rest of lives in bed. Expletive."

"Right. So, all of the above, plus… hmmm. Oh, I know: Starfleet not minding. Thinking it's grand, in fact. And Cardassia not minding either. Everyone, in fact, who could remotely care that I'm on Cardassia in bed with you thinking that it's absolutely excellent, 'well done us.' And you and me together and happy. And never having to work at anything, or having any arguments, and the sex is fantastic, and everything is _perfect._ "

During this diatribe, Julian's arm, complete with pointing finger, has begun to gesture more and more emphatically; at this last point, that finger swoops down and pokes Garak square in the Chula. It tickles, and he hisses idly, then makes a contemplative noise. "Perfect?"

"Mmm. Yes, I think perfect. And thence go we to a life of incessant bliss."

"This is a bit of a tall order." He's trying very hard not to laugh.

"What, aren't you up to it?" So is Julian.

"I may need more bet'esk."

"Coming right up. Whoops, careful there—"

Reluctantly he lets go of Julian's arm, and Julian is able to reach the jar without risking a spill. Hardly worth it, in his opinion. "It wouldn't stain the sheets."

"Might bleach them, more likely. Horrible stuff."

"Mmm. Do you think it would taste better if we added juice?"

"Don't want to risk ruining the juice. We've only got half a rat-pack left anyway."

He sighs, and Julian pats his arm.

"Dark times, Elim."

"We must be strong."

Both cups are plunked back down on the floor, next to the jar, and Julian puddles over him once again. Really, his skin is almost ridiculously soft, more like the rind of a mulvan than flesh. Garak runs his hands over him, lets them catch and tug, feels Julian shiver and smile against his neck.

"Don't try to distract me. I want my lies." Julian's voice is lazy, slurring slightly, and Garak sips the air, tastes his breath.

"You shall have them. Settle in."

"Mmm…"

"Comfortable?"

"Yes."

"Good. Now, you'll be pleased to hear that I will soon receive a communiqué from DS9. More specifically, from Colonel Kira."

"Will you really?"

"Mmm. After the niceties which we will exchange—"

"This _is_ a lie."

"—she will inform me that you are on indefinite leave from your responsibilities as CMO."

"Oh, lovely."

"Yes. Something about a job extremely well done, and Starfleet feeling that some rest and relaxation are in order."

"They're not far wrong there."

"You will be instructed not to hurry back."

"Shan't."

"In fact, you'll be told to stay on indefinitely as the Federation representative to Cardassia Prime."

"Really!"

"Some kind of cultural attaché, apparently."

"That's nice."

"And I, oddly enough, will be abruptly released from both my work team _and_ my re-organization committee."

"Oh, no."

"Oh, yes. They'll all do much better without me."

"You'll be devastated."

"Shattered."

"Tsk. They don't know what they've let slip through their fingers. Wait, 'won't know'…? 'Will have let'? What tense do I use for a lie?"

"Relax, my dear. Let me handle this."

"Complicated business, this lying."

"I've always told you lying is an art."

"I'm beginning to understand."

"Now, the important part of the story is that you and I will shortly find ourselves here with absolutely nothing to do."

"That's tragic. How ever will we fill the time?"

He's laughing again, and Garak breathes in the scent of him, blinks lazily at the ceiling.

"Well, we'll busy ourselves with this and that. Conversation. Books."

"Expletive?"

"No doubt some expletive, from time to time. As the mood takes us."

"That sounds good."

"And our relationship will be easy and effortless. We'll never argue. We'll never disagree."

"Mmm."

"We won't have time, because in about two weeks, Ra'ajev will go nova, destroying Prime and her sisters, and you and I will go up in little wisps of smoke." He gestures with two fingers, _poof._

Silence for a moment, and then Julian props himself up and frowns. "Elim."

"Yes, Julian?"

"That's not the kind of story I had in mind."

"Well, you wanted lies, didn't you?"

"I did. But I also wanted a happy ending."

"You didn't specify."

"I'm specifying now."

"I don't see any other way we can spend our entire lives in perfect bliss, do you?"

"Use your imagination."

"Very well. Tomorrow, you and I will go down to what was once the Obsidian Order offices, and they'll fit us both out with cerebral implants—"

_"Garak."_

He mustn't grin. It's so hard not to. Damn the bet'esk. "You did say 'bliss.'"

"Not that kind of bliss. Real bliss. Honest bliss."

"My very dear Doctor, do you know any way a sentient being can spend its every waking moment in a state of bliss without chemical or technological augmentation?"

He manages to get the entire sentence out without tripping over his tongue and is, for a moment, very self-congratulatory. Julian, meanwhile, is less appreciative. A shame.

"I just want a happy story, Garak."

"Very well. Lie back down. Yes, like that… very good. Let me see. Mmm. There is always the outside chance that my government could reassign us both to a groundbreaking new endeavour. Something about boosting the economy via holosuite program design—"

"It's just not going to be possible to get you to be serious about this, is it." Julian shakes his head, rubbing his ear back and forth against Garak's chest.

He smiles up at the ceiling. "With this much bet'esk in me? You ask a great deal."

"I'm a bit disappointed."

"Oh, please don't say you expected better of me."

"That _would_ be silly, wouldn't it."

"Very."

"I suppose I got what I asked for."

"Mmm…"

"More or less, anyway."

"Hmm?"

"Well, I…" Julian sighs, and Garak's interest is piqued. "I just… well, I expected a better _quality_ of lie, is all."

He blinks, nonplussed. "My lies aren't up to your standards?"

"I thought you'd trot out the best for me. You know. Try to impress."

He shouldn't rise to the bait. He knows he shouldn't. But how can he resist?

"Now what, exactly, was wrong with my lies?"

"They weren't what I wanted to hear at all, were they?"

"Should they have been?"

"Isn't that what lies are for?" Now Julian pushes himself up, props his chin on his hands, and manages to look remarkably professorial for someone clad in nothing but grey briefs. "Aren't they to seduce the listener?"

"I wasn't trying to seduce you."

"It _would_ be a bit late, I suppose. And a bit redundant…"

"I despise wasted effort. Pour me another?"

"All right." Julian wriggles over to the edge of the bed, makes a long arm; Garak hears the splash of the vile bet'esk hitting his cup, and delights in how Julian takes a long swig before passing it over.

"Thank you."

"Mmmph. I don't understand why you wouldn't just tell the lie I wanted to hear."

Garak gestures with the cup, managing not to douse himself. "That would have been so _dull."_

"Dull? Really? Life of bliss with expletive?"

"Don't you think we can do better?"

Julian's curled up on the bed, now, and his eyes are shining in exactly the way that makes Garak want to say things that will embarrass him later. "Do tell."

"I wouldn't dare to try. My most elegant lies would pale next to the story the two of us could tell."

That was good, if he does say so himself. Not at all embarrassing. Perhaps he's underestimated bet'esk. Meanwhile, Julian is gaping, and that's its very own pleasure, hot and sweet, and he meets that pretty mouth with his own.

When they break apart, Julian's breathing hard, smiling with wide eyes, and Garak's teeth are bared.

"You're not bad with words, are you."

"Thank you. I try."

"But you're a terrible liar."

"Am I." What full lips the man has. He remembers the feel of them, of how his lower lip can be caught between Garak's teeth just so…

"Couldn't even keep track of the lies I wanted to hear."

"Is that so." His skin is so soft, but a few places are softer still, and Garak is coming to know them well—here along the curve of his ribs, here along his belly—

"I asked very specifically, you know."

"Did you?" He could nibble, Julian would let him, he could bite oh so gently…

"And you haven't told them all."

"I beg to differ, my dear," and he dips his head low, tastes Julian's pulse, smiles against his throat. "I've told all the lies I can."

He feels it more than hears it: the hitch of breath, the sound of Julian's mouth opening in a smile.

"Oh, you… you really do think you're very clever, don't you, Elim Garak."

Mmm, there's a long-fingered hand in his hair now, tugging gently, and he hums low in his throat, losing himself in skin.

Julian's voice is pensive, even as his other hand does some remarkable things to Garak's shoulders. "You know, I would like to actually hear you say it, though…"

"Mmm… say what, exactly?"

"You know very well what exactly."

"Must I?"

"Yes. Because I won't say it back to you until you say it to me. Really say it."

"You just implied you would say it."

"Yes, but—"

"Which means you would say it, which is as good as saying it, _thank_ you, my dear, I'll hold that to my heart."

An exasperated sigh, loud in his ear, and he can't press down his smile, can barely hold back the laughter as he gathers himself for the leap.

"Elim, can you not play along for one—"

One step, and he's airborne: "I love you, Julian."

It's really quite something how that sigh stops, how everything stops in that unending moment until Julian laughs, too, and suddenly he's on solid ground again.

"Oh. Oh, that's lovely." Julian's mouth is in his hair, and his voice is muffled.

"Played along well, did I?"

"Oh, I should say so. God, that's… oh, and I love you too, by the way."

This time he can't help but laugh, mouth open, heart beating.

"That's the most half-hearted declaration of love I've ever heard."

"Sorry. I'm still reeling. Far too drunk to cope with honesty from Elim Garak."

"I can see how it would be a bit much to take."

"Overwhelming, really."

"I do apologize."

"Oh, don't."

"How can I ever make it up to you?"

"You can start by coming here."

Oh, dear, here are those eyes again. Hands slide over his shoulders and down his back, and he's kissed in a very pointed sort of way, a way in which he loses himself quite completely.

When Julian pulls back, Garak's eyes are shut, and his smile is sharp. The air tastes of bet'esk and pheromone, and he's remarkably drunk on the combination.

Julian's voice is soft; Garak can hear his smile. "D'you think I could tempt you to a bit of expletive?"

"Mmm… again?"

"Why not? Night's young, after all…"

"I suppose…"

"Just a _bit_ of expletive?"

"Mmm… oh, very well…"

"And you can tell me you love me while you do it."

"Whatever you wish…"

"And I'll say it too."

"Mmm…"

"I'll start now, in fact…"

And Julian presses kisses along his neck, over his shoulders, breathes _I love you_ into his scales and rubs it in with soft hands until Garak is pliant and gasping, wraps him in his arms and slides over him until the night is older and the moons are low, their fading light a pale imitation of the daylight to come.

* * *

_never guessed it got this good_  
 _wondered if it ever would_  
 _really didn’t think it could_  
 _do it all the time? i know that we should!!!_  
 _\--the cure, “mint car”_


End file.
